Bad Taste in Boys (4 page)

Kiki snorted, covering her mouth. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“I don’t mind. I’m not the one who has to clean it up,” I said.

Jonah had wrapped his hand in wipes and was dabbing ineffectually at the hood. He must have been able to sense Kiki’s eyes on him; he turned so red you could see it from fifty feet away.

“I’d let you wash your car, but some idiot stole our hose. I can get some old towels for you, though.” Kiki started back toward the house. “And I’ll bring you a drink,” she called over her shoulder.

Jonah was going to pee twice and die when she delivered those towels.

“So did Mike say anything to you?” Rocky asked.

“He asked if I wanted seconds,” I said.

“He did not!”

“Yep.”

“And what did you say?”

“I took him up on it. Hooking up with him was the best moment of my young life. And barf really turns me on.”

“You did not!”

“I’m joking, Rocky.” I shook my head. “Of course I didn’t. I wish I hadn’t done it the first time.”

“Well, you did,” she started, but then Kiki walked back down
the driveway juggling a stack of towels and a couple of plastic cups. Thank god. Rocky knew I didn’t like talking about my moronic Mike moment but persisted in bringing it up anyway. I felt pretty stupid for hooking up with such a loser, even if I had been under the influence at the time. And to make matters worse, now he was convinced I was easy.

I turned away from Rocky, hoping she’d get the point and shut up about it already.

“Somebody take one of these cups before I spill all over the place,” said Kiki, walking carefully over to us.

“I don’t think you want that stuff on your towels, Kiki,” I said, taking the cups. “It really reeks.”

“They’re destined for the garbage bin anyway. Be right back.”

I thought Jonah really was going to pee when he saw Kiki walking toward him. He managed to trip over his own foot instead. He put a hand out to steady himself—right in the middle of the black glop on my hood—and shrieked like a little girl. I couldn’t exactly blame him. I had a good stomach for that sort of thing, but it still grossed me out. Kiki held out a towel and murmured something soothing as she helped him clean up. I couldn’t watch anymore; he was practically panting.

Rocky took her cup and gulped down half of its contents. I stared at mine. I didn’t even like beer. Parties were so not my thing. I wondered if it was too early to leave.

“Kate!”

Aaron sprinted toward us, shouting my name. Maybe parties
were
my thing. I wasn’t sure whether to be excited or frightened.

“Uh … yeah?” I dropped the beer out of sheer nervousness. It sprayed foam all over my shoes. Brilliant, Kate. Just brilliant.

“We need you,” he said, grabbing my hand. “Medical emergency.”

And then I was running through the yard hand in hand with Aaron. It was very romantic except for the part where I yelled, “Rocky, get the first-aid kit out of my car! And make sure you don’t get any puke on it!”

spent the first minute of our sprint trying not to squeal in Aaron-induced excitement and the next minute trying not to trip over anything. Then it occurred to me that I was hurtling toward a medical emergency. It would be smart to gather a little more intel before we got there and I actually had to do something useful.

“What happened?” I gasped. I was not the running type. Aaron was doing most of the work and dragging me along behind him.

“We were standing by the fire, and he just collapsed. I didn’t know what to do, so I came looking for you.”

“Who?” I asked, but it was barely audible. Not enough airflow to my lungs. So it was no surprise when he didn’t respond.

Aaron led me across an expanse of manicured landscape and into a barren field behind the house. The bonfire loomed in the
middle, stacked high with wooden pallets and shooting sparks into the air. The space was ringed with lawn chairs and packed with people who should have been busily making fools of themselves but instead were standing in a silent, sober cluster.

I’d been out in the semidark for too long; the light from the fire completely blinded me. Little red splotches danced across my field of vision. I managed to dodge the black shadowy things that I was pretty sure were my classmates but promptly tripped over a prostrate figure at my feet.

The moment I looked down, I knew something was very, very wrong.

It was Mike. His entire body was bent backward in an unnatural arc; his hands were curled into stiff and unmoving claws. His eyes bulged from their sockets. His face was a rictus mask, his mouth a frozen, leering grin.

He was dead.

A dead body was definitely more than I was prepared for. I stood there and gaped until Rocky and Kiki ran up with my first-aid kit.

“What do you want us to do?” said Kiki, panting.

The complete confidence in her voice snapped me out of it, and I started moving. It was all gloriously instinctual once I got started. Or it would have been glorious if not for the dead guy.

“Kiki, I need crowd control,” I said. “Keep them back so I have room to work.”

Before I even finished speaking, she was on the move. The crowd parted for her like the Red Sea for Moses, and she started to
herd them like sheep. I couldn’t remember if Moses was a shepherd or not, but I was under a lot of pressure, so I felt entitled to a mixed metaphor.

“Rocky, my kit, please,” I said.

She set it on the ground in front of me before I even finished the sentence.

“Did anyone call nine-one-one?” I asked, snapping on a rubber glove.

No response; I looked up at a bunch of blank, wide-eyed faces. Now they really did remind me of sheep, the way they were milling about aimlessly, useless under pressure. Maybe Mike wouldn’t be dead if they weren’t so sheeplike. Someone could have done something to help him instead of standing around and waiting for the Kate cavalry.

“I don’t think so,” said Aaron, pulling out his cell.

I put my nongloved hand on his wrist to stop him. “No, I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Rocky, you call.”

She nodded and took a couple of steps back, whipping out her phone. I reached down to feel for Mike’s pulse with my gloved hand. The glove might have been overkill, but I had no idea what was wrong with him. I didn’t know if it was contagious.

“I already told you what happened.” Aaron knelt beside me and let out a strangled whimper. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

I couldn’t feel a pulse. I didn’t think CPR would help, but if I didn’t at least try, I’d always wonder if I gave up too soon. No way I could live with that.

I was so glad I’d asked for a CPR mask for Christmas; I popped it into shape and held it out to Aaron.

“I need you to do this for me,” I said.

“But isn’t he dead?” Aaron looked at me desperately, wanting reassurance I couldn’t give. His bare arm brushed mine. It was like an electric shock; even my toes tingled. What kind of pervert gets all worked up in the presence of a corpse? I was pretty sure I needed therapy.

I shook my head and tried to focus. “We’ve got to try. Put the mask over his mouth and nose.” I thrust it at him insistently. “Hold it tight against his face so it seals. When I say, give two breaths through the valve. I compress; you breathe. You got that?”

He stared at the mask.

“Take it!” I snapped, and this time he listened.

He couldn’t get the mask to seal. Mike’s face was too contorted, his teeth bared and jaw stretched wide. The expression freaked me out. I tried to close his mouth, but it was like trying to move a marble statue.

I knew rigor shouldn’t set in that quickly. I tried to push his hands out of the way to do the compressions, but they were frozen in place too. The only way I’d move him was by breaking his bones.

I heard a siren in the distance. It was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard. Best of all, now I had something to listen to other than my idiot classmates. Kiki was doing a great job of keeping them out of my way; too bad they wouldn’t shut up.

“Oh my god!” said a girl to my right.

“Is he dead?” asked another.

“What are you doing, Caden?” A shocked voice from the left.

“Video, dude. This is going up on YouTube.”

“That’s so tactless.”

I blocked out the commentary and tried the mask again. And again. I would not give up until someone pronounced Mike dead; then I would go somewhere and cry, and then I would vow not to attend another party for the rest of my life.

I have some very bad history with parties and Mike Luzier. The first time Kiki talked me into going to a party, I drank one too many glasses of “punch” and decided it would be a good idea to hook up with him. At the second one he up and died. It was quite apparent that I was not meant to go to parties. Or to be anywhere near Mike Luzier.

I tried shoving the mask on this time, as if brute force ever solved anything. I was so determined to make the stupid thing work that it took me a minute to realize Aaron was shaking me. I’d actually forgotten he was there.

“Kate?” He pointed at Mike’s arm. “What is that?”

I didn’t see anything at first, not until Aaron grabbed Mike’s arm and showed me the black dot on his tricep. It was surrounded by a halo of greenish-yellow flesh.

I instantly knew what it was. An injection site.

Before I could say anything, two paramedics sprinted into the backyard.

“Dude, over here!” someone yelled.

They ran toward us. I stood and was just about to brief them on the situation when Mike sat up and, for the second time that night, groped my butt.

I couldn’t help it. I screamed.

he EMTs looked back and forth between Mike and me, trying to determine whether they ought to be treating the butt groper or the screaming hysteric. Mike got to his feet with a noise somewhere between an exhalation and a moan and threw the CPR mask at me. It bounced off my forehead with a hollow
pock
and spiraled into the fire.

Everyone except Aaron started applauding. Mike didn’t clap either; he was too busy staring at his hand like he was wondering what it was and if he could eat it. His skin looked gray in the firelight. It was an improvement over the psychotic death grin of a minute ago, but not by much.